


This Barefoot Estate

by JustGettingBy



Series: Avatar 5 + 1 Things [1]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: 5+1 Things, Canon Compliant, Fire Lord Zuko, Gen, Gossip, Original Character(s), POV Outsider, Politics, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-17
Updated: 2020-06-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:21:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24241987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustGettingBy/pseuds/JustGettingBy
Summary: The palace staff can't say they're exactly pleased with the attitudes of the royal family, to say the least. Now, after a few wild fights, the old banished Prince is sitting on the throne and leading their nation. What are they supposed to make of it all?ORThe five times the palace staff weren't sure what to think about the new Fire Lord + the one time they were.
Relationships: Zuko & The Fire Nation (Avatar)
Series: Avatar 5 + 1 Things [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1786810
Comments: 342
Kudos: 6609
Collections: A:tla, Astral_Phoenix108's Library, Excellent Completed Gen & Platonic Fiction, My Favorite Atla Fics, The Tales of the World of Avatar, The Witch's Woods, fics where like zuko is nice to his staff cause hes actually a good firelord i guess





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from Emily Dickinson's "I met a King this afternoon!" (166)

i.

When Eiko was sixteen, she started working in the palace. Back then, she was all coltish limbs and shy smiles. Without question, she scrubbed the floors until they shone. Back then, Fire Lord Azulon held the throne. 

Over the years, much had changed. No one dared guess her age—she had three grown children who now all had children of their own. The heavy work had shaped out practical muscles in her arms and the money she made ensured there was always a healthy layer of meat on her bones. She didn’t scrub floors anymore—she was chief of staff at the palace. She didn’t smile shyly. She gave orders. Above all else, Eiko kept the palace running, even when they faced...turmoil, as they had over the last few weeks. 

And after the last few weeks, Eiko needed a vacation, Agni help her. She was getting too old for this. 

The morning of Fire Lord Zuko’s coronation brought another wave of chaos to the palace, but it wasn’t one they were unprepared for. After all, they had been ready for another coronation...they needed only to tweak the plans slightly. They could repeat the menu for the banquet (a good amount of the supplies had kept, meaning they didn’t need to order as much) and all the coronation robes had already been mended, the jewelry had been polished, and the courtyard had been scrubbed until the stone reflected the sun. Relatively, it took little work to bring the palace up to standard for the big day. Of course, they’d be crowning someone very different than they thought they would be. 

Eiko sighed and bundled her hands together as she watched the staff weave around each other in the crowded kitchen. The dishes clattered together and some light shouts rose above the noise and heat and steam. 

Out of all the staff, she probably knew Fire Lord Zuko better than anyone, which wasn’t saying much. Very few of the staff were still here from when he was young, and fewer still had actually interacted with the Prince. Even Eiko didn’t know him well—back then, she’d worked as a handmaiden for a minor Lady who was friends with Lady Ursa. She’d only seen Prince Zuko a handful of times. 

But servants talked, of course. It was one of their favourite pastimes. 

At the time, Eiko tried not to dwell on the rumours about how Ozai had maneuvered himself onto the throne, but even still, she couldn’t deny that Azulon was dead and Lady Ursa had vanished. If she focused on it too long, a cool chill would prick at her spine, which made it very difficult to do her job. 

Now, she found herself feeling something similar. History, it seemed, had a nasty way of repeating itself. 

“Miss Eiko?” A small voice asked.

Eiko turned to the young girl—Hoshi. The girl was still so young and small—her limbs stuck out awkwardly and she had the slightly gaunt look of someone who’d sprouted up a good few inches in a short span of time. She gave a shallow bow before looking up. “Where should I bring the kurumi moshi?”

“It’s been requested in the Fire Lord’s chambers.”

“Oh.” Hoshi paled. 

Eiko frowned and closed her eyes. She’d been the one to hire Hoshi a few months back. Normally, she required the staff to be sixteen. Hoshi might’ve been a few months shy of that age, but Eiko knew her family had fallen on hard times since her father died in the attempted siege of the North Pole. The girl promised she’d be a hard worker, so Eiko assigned her to wash dishes in the kitchens. Where was the harm in that? (And if she had a soft spot for the girl who happened to remind her of her younger self, that was no one’s business but hers.)

But, in the wake of Princess Azula’s unexpected dismissals, Eiko had no choice but to promote the girl. There were no other qualified or trustworthy staff. 

“Be careful, Hoshi,” Eiko said so quietly it was nearly under her breath. “Treat his majesty with the utmost respect and honour.”

Hoshi nodded. “I will.”

“And know,” Eiko hesitated, struggling to find the right words, “know that I will not hold it against you if you choose to seek other employment.”

She nodded and scurried away, sweeping the tray of sweets up in her hands. 

Eiko bit her lip. Agni knows she’d never say it out loud (even thinking it was treason), but there was something _wrong_ with that family. They were vicious and untrustworthy—from Fire Lord Auzlon’s callousness, to Fire Lord Ozai’s viciousness, to Princess Azula’s unreasonable demands. Each one of them was constantly plotting against the others so that they might secure their own spot. Out of the lot of them, the only one she’d liked was Prince Iroh and Fire Lord Zuko turned his uncle over and got him sent to a cell so he could return from his banishment. 

In truth, Eiko was terrified about what the next years would bring. The Avatar claimed his defeat of Fire Lord Ozai would bring peace, but how could it? Fire Lord Zuko had been an angry child, who turned even angrier once he was scarred and banished for speaking out against his father. (Eiko didn’t know the exact details, but he’d been such a petulant child that it wasn’t hard to imagine what he might’ve said). He returned by betraying his uncle, spent the next few months sulking around the palace, and then he’d disappeared again. Then, when his father was distracted with the Avatar, he returned to overtake his sister and claim the throne. 

Eiko prayed to Agni he’d have mercy on the people. Then she took a deep breath, swallowed, and turned back to her staff. They were her responsibility. She swore she’d protect them as well as she could. 

ii.

At eighteen, most men in the Fire Nation went off to war. 

Tengo didn’t. 

As a child, he’d fallen from a tree in his backyard and snapped the bones in his lower left leg. Even though a physician had set them, they’d never healed properly and a slight but permanent limp altered his gait. Normally, it didn’t bother him too much (his leg only ever ached when it rained), but the injury was enough for the army to turn him away. 

But Tengo was nothing if not resilient. The next day, he went to the palace and applied for a position. 

Now, a year and a half later, he found himself assigned to be a personal attendant of the Fire Lord. There was no greater honour. At least, he thought so. 

On the first morning of his new position, he went to the Fire Lord’s chambers as Eiko had instructed him. He knocked tentatively on the door and, a moment later, a bristly ‘enter’ sounded from within. When he stepped into the chambers, his heart seized for a moment. Although the Fire Lord had been back for a short stint not long ago, Tengo had never seen him up close. Now, he could see the man was nearly the spitting image of his father—save his eyes, which were bright amber. And the scar, of course. The Fire Lord’s face was already narrowed to glare, and the way his eye twisted only deepened the look. Even though he was still clad in silk sleep-robes, he looked intimidating. 

Tengo lowered himself into a bow and stared at his feet as his cheeks warmed. He hated it when others stared at his leg. He wouldn’t be caught doing the same. 

“I didn’t send for anyone,” Fire Lord Zuko said, his tone level. 

“Miss Eiko sent me, your majesty.” 

The Fire Lord huffed, but then shook his head and waved. “Fine, fine. Do whatever you need to do.” He sat at the desk on the edge of his room and unfurled a scroll. 

Tengo blinked, not knowing what to say. In his training, they hadn’t covered this situation (although he hadn’t had much—he’d gotten the job on short notice). “Uhh, your Majesty?”

“Yes?”

“I’m here to help you dress and arrange your hair. It would be quite difficult to the former with you sitting.”

The Fire Lord’s head snapped up and his lips turned down at the sides. 

“Of course, it’s no problem to start with your hair, if his majesty wishes,” Tengo backtracked. “I simply thought it would be easier to dress you first.”

“I don’t need your help,” Fire Lord Zuko said. “You can leave.”

Tengo felt a wave of nausea rise in his gut. He had heard Princess Azula dismissed her servants with ease, but he hadn’t expected the Fire Lord to do the same. 

“Of course, your majesty.” His first day and he was already fired. “You won’t see me again.” Maybe he could beg Eiko to reassign him. He always wondered what it would be like to tend the gardens…

“Ah, no, I didn’t mean it like that.” Fire Lord Zuko pinched his nose. “How about you, uh, bring me some tea? And maybe some biscuits?”

“Yes, your majesty.” Tengo nodded curtly and waited for the Fire Lord to dismiss him. 

The Fire Lord only stared back. “And you’re dismissed,” he said after a long and awkward paused. Tengo thought he saw a bit of red brush the Fire Lord’s unmarked cheek, but he couldn’t be certain. 

As he walked to the kitchens, the sun beat down overhead. It was still early, but he could already tell it was going to warm to a scorching hot summer day. 

In the kitchen, he leaned against the far wall as one of the cooks brewed the tea. His old friend Ikki, who was a server, came to his side immediately. 

“So,” he whispered, “what’s the Fire Lord like?” Between the heat of the day and the heat of the kitchen, Ikki’s dark hair stuck up wildly. 

Tengo shrugged. “Honestly, I can’t tell. He’s...hard to get a read on.”

Ikki tsked. “I can imagine. I mean—one minute he’s travelling around the world trying to capture the Avatar, and then the next he’s on his side? His whims must turn with the tides.”

Tengo nodded in agreement, but he didn’t dare to say anything, even quietly. Sometimes, Ikki needed to learn when to shut up. Any member of the kitchen staff could overhear and if the news got back to the Fire Lord… well, Tengo didn’t like to think about that.

“But, maybe we’re not giving him enough credit. Maybe he played the long game—the enemy of your enemy is your friend, after all.”

Now that was an unpleasant thought. Tengo wondered if he really wanted to go back to the chambers and work so close to such a dangerous man. 

But before he could think it through, he had a tray thrust into his hand. “Here,” the cook said. Her hair was also a little wild from the heat and humidity. “And get back to work, Ikki. Lord Zhang needs his breakfast.” 

When Tengo reached the Fire Lord’s chambers, he was still seated at his desk. 

Tengo set the tray on a free space in the corner. 

“Thank you,” Fire Lord Zuko said. 

Tengo nodded. 

The Fire Lord bundled his hands in his laps. “I meant no offence earlier.”

“There was none taken, your majesty.” Tengo hid his mild surprise. When Ozai was in power, there’d never been any talk of that sort. 

“It’s just—when I was away—you know…” he threw his hands to the side and sighed. “It’s been a while since I’ve had people doing things to me. It’s going to take time for me to get used to it again.”

Tengo nodded tentatively. 

“Perhaps we could start with you laying out my clothing? And then helping with the fastenings?”

“As you wish, your majesty.” Tengo nodded again before moving toward the wardrobe to find something suitable for the Fire Lord to wear. 

“Thank you, uhh…”

“Tengo, your majesty.”

“Thank you, Tengo.” Fire Lord Zuko offered him a small smile. 

As Tengo pulled the dark red and black robes out of the wardrobe, he couldn’t help but privately wonder how, exactly, he should feel about their new leader. He certainly didn’t seem as awful as the rumours had made him out to be. 

iii. 

The palace may have belonged to the Fire Lord, but the library belonged to Kuri. Everyone knew this to be true. 

For many years, her family kept watch over the books. From her grandfather, to her mother, to her, it was their responsibility. Kuri could name nearly every scroll in the collection; she had the order of the shelves memorized. The familiar scent of dust and papyrus always welcomed her home. 

She spent all her days in the library, only going out for lunch and rarely taking vacation. The one time she had gone on an extended holiday (a three-week honeymoon on Ember Island), the shelves had been in such disarray when she returned that she swore she’d never leave again. She kept to her word, mostly. 

Kuri knew that the other staff thought she was making a mistake by not taking her leave. In truth, Kuri thought that the library was a better escape than any. Here, she could distance herself from everything going on outside. She kept the knowledge safe. Future generations might not thank her for it, but it was more essential than anyone could know. 

And—if on the odd occasion—she spent the better part of her afternoon lost in a romance scroll? Well, that was no one’s business but her own. 

One night, when the air had started to turn as the blistering summer wound down into a warm fall, she locked up the library as usual and made her final rounds. It might’ve been true that the only people who came to her library were diplomats and scholars, but they tended to be some of the most absent-minded people Kuri had ever met. She pushed in the chairs, re-shelved scrolls, and swept the floors each night but, without fail, the mess always returned the next evening. 

As usual, she was putting a scroll on astronomy back into the correct position (because, _honestly_ , how did someone think it belonged with the anatomy texts?) when she heard a low sigh of frustration sound from a few rows over. 

Kuri shoved the scroll back and crossed her arms. When would people learn? The library’s door closed at the sixth mark after noon. 

“Excuse me,” Kuri said, raising her voice sternly, “we’re closed.” As she walked down the aisle, she made sure her steps fell heavily on the brick. Agni knows she didn’t need a repeat of a few months ago when she’d caught those teens tangled together in the section on weather patterns. 

But no response came from whoever was there, so Kuri cleared her throat as she rounded the corner. “We are closed.”

A teen reaching for a scroll jumped and dropped an armful of papers. They clattered against the ground. 

Kuri hummed with disapproval. These teens…

“Sorry,” the teen said as he bent down to pick up what he’d dropped. 

And Kuri’s heart slid into her stomach. He wasn’t just any teenager—he was the Fire Lord. Kuri swooped into a low bow. “My apologies, your majesty, I didn’t recognize you.” Really, she hadn’t. With his back turned and head unadorned, he could have been anyone. Once he turned, however, his identity was unmistakable. She hadn’t seen Fire Lord Zuko up close since he was a young boy being dragged into the library by a tutor, but even in the library, the rumours still reached her. 

Fire Lord Zuko brushed the back of his neck. “I didn’t realize what time it was.” 

Kuri reached down and gathered the scrolls he’d dropped. They all seemed to refer to various cultures of the other nations. “Please, your majesty, take as long as you need. Is there anything I can help you find?”

The Fire Lord pressed his lips together. His pinched expression was somewhat unreadable—aside from the look of annoyed concentration, Kuri couldn’t guess what he was thinking. 

“What do you have on the Northern Water Tribe?” he finally asked. 

Kuri stilled, suddenly aware of her library’s glaring emptiness. It’s only her and the Fire Lord and row after row of scrolls. She coughed lightly. “I’m not sure…” she said, trying to think on her feet. 

Once, when she was young and learning how to keep the scrolls, her grandfather told her a story. A story of a young and angry man who came to the library looking for any scroll that so much as mentioned the Air Nomads. 

Now, there were several shelves in the far corner of the library that sat empty. They can never be refilled. 

And Kuri will be damned if she ever lets anything like that happen again. “Unfortunately, your majesty, I can’t help you.” She bowed again, her heart racing and her ears buzzing with static. 

“Oh.” He cast his eyes downward, looking sheepish but not angry. 

Kuri thanked Agni for that.

“Do you know of anyone who might be able to teach me about them?”

Kuri hesitated. “I might. It’s hard to say, exactly. What sort of...things do you wish to learn, your majesty?”

“Courtly etiquette, mostly,” he said, almost grumbling.

Kuri schooled her shock. “Oh?”

“It’s just—I never really expected to be here—and no one else did either, apparently. I mean…” he trailed off and sighed. “When I was growing up, I was fourth in line to the throne. And since everyone expected Lu Ten to wed when he returned from Ba Sing Se, it seemed unlikely I’d ever be here. I’ve missed out on a lot of the lessons I probably should’ve been taught.” He paused and his face reddened slightly. “I’ve said too much…”

“No, no, it’s alright,” Kuri said. The young Fire Lord did seem genuine in his speech. “Do you have an advisor on the subject?”

He shook his head. “Uncle is always willing to lend an ear, but it’s harder now that he’s returned to his tea shop. And my advisor here is really only knowledgeable in Fire Nation culture.”

“I see.” Kuri tapped her chin. “It’s not my place, but if I may be so bold, your majesty, there are no laws against having multiple advisors. I may be able to recommend some scholars who could be of use.”

He smiled slightly. “That would be wonderful. I just want to get it right—can you imagine if I jeopardize the fragile peace because I bowed at the wrong time? Or used an incorrect title?”

Kuri said nothing, she only nodded slowly in understanding. Standing in front of her with bags under his eyes, it was apparent how young Fire Lord Zuko still was, and how alone he’d become in his position. At seventeen, he had the weight of not only the nation’s future on his shoulders but of the whole world—and painful little training on how to balance the courtly manners. 

It would be hell, Kuri decided, if after all his struggle the Fire Lord folded under courtly drama and subterfuge. 

“Now that I think of it,” she said, “there might be one scroll that could be useful. I’ll get it for you, your majesty.”

Kuri walked down the aisle, but she paused before turning into the next roll. “And please—if you need anything in the future, just let me know.”


	2. Chapter 2

iv.

In Hoshi’s opinion, working at the palace was actually a pretty sweet gig. The pay was good, the hours weren't terrible, and mostly she was left to do her work without anyone hovering over her shoulder. The other staff and servants were nice, if not a little skittish, but they were good to work with. And, when she looked in the mirror, she could see that the constant scrubbing of tiles has built some wiry muscle into her arms. It’s cool, she thought when she flexed. 

Most of all, at the palace people didn’t give her the sad looks like the people do when she’s in town. Everyone in town stared at her like she was some charity case—a random woman even pinched her cheeks once, which Hoshi was _much_ too old for. They’d heard about her father, she knew. But instead of offering their sympathies and moving on, they were always so cloyingly sympathetic that it made Hoshi’s gut twist. Of course, when she mentioned she worked at the palace, their faces would always sour. In their minds, her job was nearly worse than having none at all. 

The people still whispered about their new Fire Lord, but Hoshi had only met him once, and briefly at that. On the morning of his coronation, she delivered a tray of pastries to his chambers. When she set the food on the small table in his bedroom, he’d given her a curt nod and said nothing else (secretly, Hoshi thought he looked a little queasy, but she didn’t dwell too much on that). After that, Eiko moved Hoshi to a permanent position with the palace maids and she scarcely saw so much as a hint of his gilded robes again. It was bad form for the maids to be seen by royalty, apparently. Hoshi guessed they liked to pretend the palace magically cleaned itself. Or—more correctly—they didn’t even realize that they made it dirty in the first place. 

But at the palace, she didn’t get special treatment. She got work to provide for her mother and younger siblings. And the other staff respected her for that. 

And, if she happened to catch the best bits of conversations while she worked, well, she wasn’t going to complain. It wasn’t like she _tried_ to eavesdrop. It just happened. Completely by accident. 

One day, while Hoshi was sweeping the flagstones of the courtyard, she heard a familiar voice drift down from a terrace overhead. 

“—no, no, really. They’re beautiful. Best in the city, if not in the whole nation.”

“Thank you, your majesty. I’ll be sure to pass along the compliment,” someone (a guard, she guessed) answered. 

“If your mother would like, I would love a clipping of her ume tree to plant in the palace garden.”

“I’m sure she’d be honoured, your majesty. Her garden is her pride and joy…”

The rest of the conversation slipped away from Hoshi’s ears as the two must’ve made their way back inside. Hoshi kept sweeping. 

* * *

A few days later, while she was in the staff’s private break room mending her apron, she heard two of the more senior servers talking. 

“The Fire Lord asked me about Daiki again,” said Nara as she stirred her noodles around the bowl. “He wanted to know how his schooling was going.” 

Hoshi was on the other side of the room, but she could still feel Nara’s pride for her son. And, better than anything, she managed to mend the tear in her apron without pricking her finger. Things around the palace were looking up. 

* * *

That night, with a pocket full of coins, she went down to the market and went to buy a basketful of fresh passion fruit—they were finally in season. In all of the city, there was nowhere that Hoshi would rather be than the market. The warm and strange scents of everything from spices to perfumes to tea always filled the air and there was a constant flow of people that provided hours of entertainment. There would always be a couple arguing over the cost of some purchase, or a lovesick teen looking for the perfect flower, or a bawdy sailor haggling for a drink.

From the top of the market, Hoshi looked out over the canvas-covered stalls that lined the streets down to the docks and, in the distance, the ocean opened up the world to the horizon. A few boats speckled the sea, but they weren’t military; they had the sloping sails of fishing ships. She closed her eyes and breathed in the salty breeze and felt the sun beat against her skin. Hoshi pictured a cherry tree blossoming in her chest when she thought about her nation. The beauty of it all made her still, yet the flowers pushed the air out of her lungs and the branches pressed against her heart until she was left with a hollow ache she could never stop. There was so much beauty here and so much pain. Would it always feel this way? 

As she pushed her way through the crowd to the fruit stall, she tried not to dwell on it too much. Whenever her thoughts wandered in this direction, she inevitably thought of her father and how his love for this nation brought him to the Northern Water Tribe. And how he’d never returned. Hoshi shook her head. “Five passion fruits, please,” she said to the grey-haired woman at the stall. 

She nodded and filled Hoshi’s basket. “Everything alright, dear?”

Hoshi gave her a smile, even though she knew it was weak. “It’s fine, really. Just a long day at work.” 

The woman chuckled lightly. “I know the feeling all too well. Where do you work?”

“I’m a maid at the palace.”

A deep frown creased the older woman’s face. She paused, passion fruit in one hand, and looked down at Hoshi. “Do they treat you well?”

“Yes, of course,” Hoshi answered, well aware her cheeks were probably flushed dark red.

“The weaver a few stalls down is looking for an assistant, I believe. The pay might not be that great but she’s a lovely person to work with.”

Hoshi nodded with respect. “Thanks, but I like my job.” She tried to give a more genuine smile. “Really.”

“Hmm.” The woman put the rest of the passion fruit in Hoshi’s basket. “If you say so. But the things I’ve heard about that boy… Well, it doesn’t matter. As long as they treat you well.”

That night, Hoshi stared at her ceiling, unable to sleep. She’d heard rumours about Ozai and Azula—she wasn’t totally naive, despite what most people seemed to believe. Thankfully, she’d been saved from the brunt of their wrath. They didn’t exactly come into kitchens to yell at dishwashers. But from everything she heard, the nation was still wary about their new leader. Hoshi sighed. She’d make her own opinion on Fire Lord Zuko. Listening to gossip never did much good (even if it was fun). 

* * *

As the autumn equinox drew nearer, Hoshi seemed to have more and more work every day. She knew it was for a good reason—a series of peace and political talks among Fire Nation nobility. It was great for the nation, sure, but that didn’t make Hoshi any happier about the extra cleaning she had to do. Some of the spare guest rooms hadn’t been used in years and had the dust and cobwebs to show for it. 

Hoshi knocked the cobwebs away from the wall with the end of her broom. She coughed lightly as a cloud of dust rose up in its wake. _Great_. She brushed the dust away from her apron with her hands. In a few days, she knew it would be worth it when the palace shone as it used to in the stories her Grandmother liked to tell. It even smelled of disuse—like dust and dry air. Hoshi opened the window in the room and hoped the sea breeze would make it more tolerable. 

From the garden below, voices floated up. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know what you’re referring to,” someone (probably a nobleman, guessing by his stiff tone) said.

“I think you do,” another said in reply. Hoshi stiffened. She knew that raspy voice—it was the Fire Lord, without a doubt, even if his tone was more stern than she’d ever heard it before. Angry, even. “Those funds were for assisting wounded soldiers, not for your vacation home on Ember Island.”

Hoshi peered out the corner of the window to confirm her suspicion. Sure enough, the Fire Lord stood against the maple tree in his casual robes. His arms were crossed and his eyes were narrowed at the other man. Hoshi didn’t know him by sight, but by the fine silk he wore he was clearly a noble—probably one who’d arrived early for the political discussions. His hair was speckled with grey and he had a slightly jowled look around his face. 

“That is a serious accusation, my Lord,” said the noble. His voice rang clear with a sharp edge. “One that my supporters—and I do have many—wouldn’t take kindly to. ”

“Don’t test me,” Fire Lord Zuko shot back. A chill ran up Hoshi’s spine. The Fire Lord’s voice teemed with cold anger. Maybe she could see where some of the rumours about him came from... “Things are going to be done differently from now on, do you understand? And, one way or another, the men and women who fought for this nation _will_ get the support they deserve, or there will be repercussions. You’d do well to remember I have supporters in high places, too. Do I make myself clear?”

“Perfectly,” the other man replied and bowed shallowly. By the sounds of it, he was gritting his teeth. 

At that, the Fire Lord’s eyes darted up to the window. His fierce gaze locked on Hoshi’s for a brief but undeniable moment before they flickered back to the nobleman. 

Hoshi jumped back from the window and clutched her broom close to her chest. How could she have been so foolish? She’d lose her position. Even if it wasn’t anything personal or cruel, no one in their right mind would tolerate that behaviour by a member of the palace staff. 

Hoshi numbly swept up the rest of the cobwebs and folded the new linens down over the bed. Her heart thumped wildly. What would happen to her? Spirits, if she was banished from the capital she’d never be able to support her mother.

“Excuse me.”

Hoshi nearly jumped a foot in the air. Instead, she lowered herself in a bow that touched the floor. “Fire Lord Zuko. Your majesty.”

“You heard my conversation in the garden,” he said, his tone cool but sharp. It wasn’t a question. 

“I did.” There was no point denying what he already knew. Should she apologize? Beg? Grovel?

“I must ask for your discretion on the matter.” The Fire Lord folded his hands together in such a way that left the long sleeves of his robes hanging in front of him. 

Hoshi paused. “Of course, your majesty. I wouldn’t dream of repeating what I heard.” And it was true—she would never. Whispers about his personal life were one thing: they never brought real harm, they rarely spread past the palace walls, and (more often than not) they weren’t even true. But this? It was a matter of national security. Hoshi mightn’t have been well versed in politics, but she knew that peace was delicate.

The Fire Lord dipped his head shallowly. When he rose it, his face was unexpressive but not dangerous. His eyes, Hoshi thought, seemed kind. Even the injured one. “Thank you,” he said before walking out of the room without looking back. 

In her head, she turned over the discussion in her head. The Fire Lord _could_ be scary. She wouldn’t deny that and she certainly wouldn’t want to be in the nobleman’s shoes. With Fire Lord Zuko’s tone like cold fire and his elaborate robes that made him seem larger than life, he didn’t seem any different than the Fire Lords before him. 

But Hoshi couldn't bring herself to fear him. Not truly. How could she be afraid of anyone who loved his people?

v.

As the head palace cook for the past ten years, Aina didn’t see much outside the kitchens. She rarely took note of the heat and steam anymore—it was just another part of her job. Besides, she was a fire bender and a damn good one, she liked to think. A little heat never scared her away. (In fact, her flame did come in handy for a number of dishes she invented, but that was another story altogether.)

But the bottom of the line was that she didn’t see as much of the palace as she’d like. She didn’t have the luxury of wandering through gardens or even scrubbing down the floor of different chambers each day. It was the kitchen day in and day out. On special occasions, she’d poke her head into the dining room to make sure that the meal was going well, but that was really the only time she’d ventured out of the kitchens. Fire Lord Zuko had held the throne for half a year now, and the only seen him twice—once from a distance at his coronation and again as she checked in on a banquet. 

But, as little as she’d seen him, she did have a sliver of a soft spot for their new leader. As a kid, she’d caught him sneaking in here more than once, looking for something to satisfy his sweet tooth. He’d always tell the cooks how much he loved their cooking (a trick Aina was certain he’d learned from his older cousin) and, more often than not, he’d walk away with a sweet of some kind. 

Even though he didn’t break into the kitchens now, after most meals a server would flag Aina down. “The Fire Lord would like to pay his compliments to the cook,” they’d say. 

At first, Aina dismissed it. Of course any new leader would want loyalty from their staff. Ever since he was a child, that boy had a way of winning over the kitchen staff. There was a fine line between flattery and manipulation. But as time dragged on, Fire Lord Zuko continued to pass along his compliments. If he was trying to win her support, he certainly knew how to do so. Maybe he wasn’t all that different from the young boy who went looking for midnight (and midday) snacks.

Aina smiled to herself as she took stock of the kitchen’s supplies that night. The task was repetitive and involved little creativity, but she never minded it. It was always quiet when the staff cleared out after dinner and she could finally have a moment to think for herself. They’d need more flour (they always seemed to burn through it faster than she expected) but it seemed there were enough eggs for another few days. They were also completely out of cabbage, but she’d been trying to order more for weeks without any success. Something about a delivery accident—

From the kitchen, a loud crash rang out. Aina started and pushed out of the supply room. The staff were all supposed to be done for the night, but if someone was intruding, she didn’t see why they’d start with the kitchen. 

But it wasn’t an intruder. It was Tengo, the Fire Lord’s assistant. The teen was stooped over and picking up shattered pieces of a ceramic mug. When she entered, he looked up at her. “Sorry, Aina,” he mumbled.

Aina picked up a cloth and wiped the tea on the floor. “It’s fine,” she said. She’d been working in the kitchens too long to make a fuss over a shattered mug. “You scared me, more than anything. I thought you’d all gone home for the night.”

“I wish,” Tengo said with a sigh. “But Lord Zuko’s been in his meeting for _hours._ ”

“Oh?” Aina hadn’t heard that any visiting dignitaries were in town. 

“The Fire Sages are pretty insistent.” Tengo shrugged. “They want him to marry,” he whispered to her, even though there wasn’t anyone else around. “They're getting restless now that the succession isn’t clear.”

“Are they?” Fire Lord Zuko wasn’t even eighteen summers yet. 

“Yeah. He’s trying to hold them off for a few more years, but he’s not having much luck.”

“Hmm.” Aina crossed her arms. She’d never married. She’d never wanted to marry. The thought of someone pushing her into it for political reasons made her feel clammy and caged. “Are you going back in there?”

Tengo nodded. “I was just clearing the tea.”

“Wait a moment,” Aina instructed. 

In the kitchen, she reached for a tray. She loaded it with kurumi mochi and fire flakes and fresh apple slices. “Here,” she said, thrusting it into Tengo’s hands. 

“Uh, thanks.” A little bit of confusion clouded his face, but he didn’t question it, he only headed back for the meeting down the hall. 

Half an hour later, when Aina was finishing her inventory, she heard the distant sounds of deep voice drifting in from the hallway. A raspy laugh even echoed through the hall. She smiled to herself. Trust Sage Hiro to be absolutely miserable until he had his snacks. She learned long ago that there wasn’t much difference between fussy toddlers and some of the officials. 

The hinges of the kitchen door creaked as someone entered. 

“You can leave the tray, Tengo,” Aina said without looking. “I can clean it.”

“Tengo is actually out in the hall right now.”

Aina raised her eyebrow at the voice, but it didn’t surprise her entirely. “Fire Lord Zuko,” she said with a bow. “What an honour.”

He smiled at her. On his right cheek, a small dimple folded in, as it always did when he was young. “I can’t stay long—Spirits know I’ve kept Tengo long enough. But I wanted to say thank you, Aina.”

Aina, in spite of herself, felt a flush warm her ears. “It’s my job, your majesty.”

He chuckled softly. “We both know it’s not. But I appreciate it greatly.”

“Tengo mentioned the meeting was dragging.”

“That’s putting it mildly.” He shook his head. “I can honestly say I never expected that the cook would have more power of my council than I did.”

“Your majesty, I would never—”

“I know you wouldn’t. But I think we should keep it between us. If Sage Hiro ever figured out that he was so easily swayed by fire flakes, I’d never get anything done again.”

Aina smiled. “I understand.”

He nodded. “Thank you. Again.” As he turned to leave, he glanced back with a childish grin. “Any chance you could prepare some light fare for the council meeting next Thursday? We’re supposed to be going over the budget for the months ahead.”

“Of course, your majesty. My pleasure.”

As she watched the door swing shut behind him, she relaxed. The years might not have been kind to the Fire Lord, but he hadn’t been hardened by his difficulties. She expected him to be calculating and cold and every bit as harsh as his father and sister when he returned—surely those banished years would’ve carved away the heart of the kid who liked to feed the turtleducks. But if anything, he seemed more humbled and caring than he had been as a child. There was value in that beyond anything, Aina thought. When the world is cruel, it takes strength to be kind. 

She sighed softly and finished writing down her order. He might not want to marry yet, but she thought he would make a great father, whenever he was ready. It would be nice to have new little princes and princesses to sneak pastries to again. One day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was getting a bit long, so I decided to split it from the final +1 (which should be up in a few days)


	3. Chapter 3

+i. 

When Manzo was eighteen, he met the Fire Lord (then Prince) for the first time. 

He didn’t like him. At all. 

Looking back, Manzo couldn’t be sure how much of his dislike could be attributed to Prince Zuko himself. Mostly, he was bitter about his lot in life—fresh out of training and stuck babysitting a spoiled brat. He remembered many nights when he’d lean against the railing of the Prince’s boat and watch the hull cut through the waves as they made their way to the next place where the Avatar could’ve possibly hunkered down for the past hundred years. 

At the time, he was sure it was career suicide. He should’ve been working his way up through the ranks as any respectable soldier would. But Manzo’s father had once served with General Iroh at Ba Sing Se, and he swore to Manzo that following the banished Prince and the ex-general would be an honourable duty. 

Manzo resented his father at eighteen. 

At twenty-two, he’d admit his father was right. 

The Prince had gone from a scowling, spoiled kid with half his face wrapped up and a weird-looking ponytail to a fully-fledged Fire Lord. 

(Of course, if Manzo had known what had actually happened to the Prince at the start of their mission instead of learning three years in, he expected his feelings might’ve been different.)

But, after three years on that ship, a few weeks under Zhao, and then another six months as part of a normal regiment, Manzo got himself a position as a personal guard of the Fire Lord. And _that_ was a sweet deal: good pay, a more than a fair number of vacation days, and a decent reputation in town. Over the first few months he worked there, Manzo had caught a few of the maids throwing glances his way. Ladies loved a man in uniform, he supposed. 

All that was to say, Manzo liked his job. He liked Fire Lord Zuko. And, for the first time in a long time, he liked the life he built for himself. 

* * *

Near the start of winter, Manzo came into the barracks one day to find himself down a partner. 

“Kenzou went back to his village,” another guard explained. “His mother’s ill.”

“Oh.” Manzo scratched his neck. He’d worked with the older guard every day for nearly six months, but he hardly knew anything about the other man. 

“They’re sticking the new recruit with you until Ken’s back.”

 _Great_. Manzo ran his hand over his face. His job wasn’t difficult, exactly, but he and Kenzou had fallen into an easy rhythm that would be hard to teach. He resigned himself to a few weeks of frustration and pulled on his armour. As he was lacing his boots, he heard someone behind him clear their throat.

Manzo sighed. “Yeah?”

“Are you Manzo? Sir?” The voice was much higher than Manzo expected.

“That’s me,” he said as he turned. 

“I’m the new recruit,” said the new kid—and Agni, was he ever a kid. His arms and legs seemed to be pulled out and too long for his body. A few zits flecked his smooth cheeks and his dark hair was unkempt in the way that reminded Manzo of a school child who’d been playing tag in the courtyard. Despite it all, there was something familiar in the kid’s face—his cheekbones had a sharp angle. “The head of the guard said you’d show me the ropes?”

“Sure, sure,” Manzo said as he tried to mentally catch up to speed. Wasn’t there someone more qualified to take his place? Couldn’t they stick this kid next to some minor nobleman? 

“I’m fully trained, sir,” the new guard said. He’d probably guessed what Manzo was thinking by the look on his face. “I worked as a guard for noblemen on Cresent Island for two years before coming here. I’m just not familiar with the palace.”

“Alright, we can learn as we go today. We better go and relieve the night watch—you know the Fire Lord will feed us to the turtleducks if we’re late.”

The blood drained from the kid’s face—his face turned ashen and his throat bobbed. “Really?” he asked weakly.

 _Agni, where did they find this kid?_ Manzo blinked. “Relax, I was joking.” Manzo stood and put on his helmet. “The Fire Lord only saves the best food for the turtleducks anyways.”

The kid swallowed again, but followed Manzo’s lead and put on his helmet. He fell behind Manzo’s step. 

“So kid, you got a name?”

“Naoki, sir.”

“And how old are you?”

“Eighteen summers, sir.”

“Hmm.” Manzo sighed. Of course Naoki was of age—there was no way they’d send someone younger than that to guard the Fire Lord, even if it was an acceptable practice in the colonies. Even with his slightly awkward look, Manzo could see it. The kid was just a late bloomer. 

“Everything alright, sir?”

“Don’t call me sir, kid. I’m barely five years older than you.”

Naoki’s head bobbed. “Alright, sir.”

* * *

As a royal guard, Manzo knew the importance of being ready for anything. He had to be prepared for would-be assassins, wanna-be thieves, and nossy nobles. This wasn’t a job where one could slack, even for a moment. At all times, Manzo knew he had to be alert and ready for action. He knew his fellow guard had to be ready, too. 

But, _Agni_ , Naoki was twitchy. When a gust of wind rattled a tree branch in the royal garden, the kid nearly jumped a foot in the air. A few days ago, a server dropped a tray outside the banquet hall and the noise alone made Naoki spin and draw his sword.

Manzo couldn’t wait for Kenzou to return from his village. The last week had been long enough—he couldn’t imagine doing this much longer. 

* * *

The day was cool (or, at least, cool for the Fire Nation) and Manzo had been posted up outside the Fire Lord’s bedchamber for some time. Manzo flexed his toes to keep them from going numb. After years on a boat, he was used to constant work and movement. Standing still for hours on end still didn’t suit him well. Naoki, on the other hand, didn’t seem at all bothered. Manzo would admit he envied him the tiniest bit. 

Finally, the door creaked open. 

“Manzo,” the Fire Lord said with a smile. “How’s your mother doing?”

Manzo walked beside Fire Lord Zuko as they made their way to the council chambers. “She’s well, my lord. Although the fact that a clipping of her Uma tree is now in the royal gardens may have gone to her head.”

Fire Lord Zuko chuckled lightly. “The gardens were neglected during Ozai’s reign. Someone had to take the initiative to restore them.”

On the other side of the Fire Lord, Manzo could tell the Naoki stiffened. For spirit’s sake, he needed to learn what it meant to be at ease. 

“I’m sure the apricots that will bloom in the spring have nothing to do with it,” Manzo joked back. 

Fire Lord Zuko’s mouth curled up. “I assure you, any fruit is merely a welcome bonus.”

“And the apricot-tarts the cook likes to make?”

“Nature has a way of rewarding those who take care of her.”

Manzo laughed. “You’ve been spending time with your uncle.”

“It turns out he makes some good points.”

Manzo nodded his head at the Fire Lord as he ducked into the council room for yet another meeting. As usual, he waited at the door, ready to move at the first call. 

Naoki took his post too. The kid confused Manzo to no end—he was jumpy as a frograbbit, but also didn’t mind staying in one place for hours on end. If Manzo could see Naoki’s face, it might be easier to sense what he was thinking, but between the helmet and armour, reading body language was off the table. 

After a beat, Naoki spoke. “You should watch your tongue,” he said so softly that his words were half-lost in the draft. “I’ve heard...stories.”

Manzo forced himself not to react. There was a time—not too long ago—when he had listened to the same ‘stories’. “Stories are just that,” he whispered back. “The Fire Lord is not what he's made out to be.”

Naoki didn’t say anything back. 

Out of the corner of Manzo’s eye, he noticed his hand clench into a fist. 

* * *

Manzo didn’t go straight home after his shift. Instead, he went up to the kitchens. Aina always had made too much and spirits knew it shouldn’t go to waste. 

As he snagged a leftover piece of tempora, he fell into conversation with the rest of the palace staff. Usually, Manzo was inclined to only listen. He didn’t have a ton of interaction with anyone in his position (although he certainly saw enough), and gossiping about the other guards was a quick ticket to unemployment. 

Today, though, he was curious. “How do you all feel about Naoki?”

“The new guard?” asked a server—Ikki, Manzo thought. 

Manzo nodded. 

Ikki scrunched his nose. “The guy watches us like we’re criminals.”

“Has he—”

Ikki waved his hand. “He hasn’t _done_ anything. Which is maybe the problem. If I were a guard and had a good reason to watch the staff that closely, I’d at least tell someone else about it. I mean, the guy acts as if he’s gonna single-handedly end crime in the Fire Nation.”

The staff, Manzo included, laughed. Jokes aside, it did feel affirming to know the other staff thought there was something off with Naoki, too. Manzo wasn’t imagining things. 

“Come on,” Eiko, the head of the staff, called as she entered the kitchen. “You’re not paid to sit and eat and gossip. Back to work.”

“It’s not gossip,” Ikki protested. “It’s a discussion. Don’t you think there’s something off about the new guard?”

Eiko sighed. “I haven’t met him—the guards are hardly my staff.” She paused for a beat. “But nerves get the best of us all, sometimes. Give him a chance to settle in.”

* * *

After his conversation with the other palace staff, Manzo swore to keep a closer eye on Naoki. 

The next morning, he stood outside the door to the Fire Lord’s personal chambers. On his other side was Naoki, still as a statue. When a rooster crowed in the distance, the kid's shoulders tensed and his head sunk down. 

Manzo rolled his eyes—one perk of wearing a helmet. 

A few minutes later, Tengo, the Fire Lord’s assistant, came out of the chamber. “His majesty is just reviewing some documents,” he told them. “And after that he’ll be going to the council meeting as usual.”

Manzo nodded and watched Tengo head down the hall. He bundled his hands together and shifted slightly on the spot to stop the tingling in his toes. Even after doing this for years, he still never understood how some people could stand at attention for hours without letting it show. He tried his best to always reign it in (the Fire Lord couldn’t have a guard who looked like a squirming five-year-old) but—

His head screamed as it was split in two. The metal ringing of his helmet drowned out all other noise and swirled in his ears. _Agni above._ What happened?

Manzo’s stomach rolled over as he sank to his knees. He tried to clear his head. 

It was too much. 

He was attacked. He thought. No, he knew. Someone hit his head. Hit his helmet. 

But there was no one else in the hall. 

Besides Naoki. 

“Lord Zuko!” Manzo tried to stand, but the world around him tipped out of reach. “Guards!”

No—no one else was nearby. The next patrol was minutes away. 

Manzo pushed down his nausea, steadied himself, and burst into the Fire Lord’s chambers with his sword drawn. 

“Lord Zuko.” 

The Fire Lord stood there, fire crackling in his one hand, the other firmly gripping Naoki’s shoulder. His hair was wild and his crown off-kilter. He narrowed his eyes in anger at Naoki. “Why,” he spat out.

Naoki’s sword lay on the other side of the room smouldering. He didn’t flinch. “Long live Fire Lord Ozai,” he said. 

The Fire Lord froze. His face fell. 

Through the gap in Naoki’s helmet, Manzo saw his jaw flex and tense. “NO!” He scrambled forward, knocked off Naoki’s helmet, and dug his fingers into his mouth. Naoki sputtered and gagged and wildly swung his fist at Manzo.

Fire Lord Zuko pinned Naoki’s hands to his side. Underneath their combined weight, he thrashed like a fish out of water. 

Manzo yanked back his spit covered hand. In between his fingers, he held his prize: a white pill, no larger than a grain of sand. 

The Fire Lord looked at Manzo, his eyebrow raised. Pale confusion clouded his anger. Now that Manzo could clearly see his face, he realized that his scarred eye was even more narrow than usual. On his cheekbone, a dark-coloured swell pushed up. 

Spirits—sometimes Manzo forgot how young the Fire Lord still was. “White Snakeroot concentrate, your majesty,” he explained. He held down Naoki and tried not to think about the waves of vertigo crashing in his skull. “When death is preferable to talking.”

“Oh.”

Finally, after what seemed like forever but couldn’t have been more than a few moments, another pair of guards came barreling into the room. Manzo swore with relief when they pulled Naoki away. Breathing heavily, he yanked off his helmet and tried to collect himself. Concentrate. 

Naoki attacked him. Naoki attacked the Fire Lord in his chambers. And now the chambers were a mess—the grand red hangings over the window were torn and a pile of cinders scattered over the floor. A faint, burnt smell lingered. Outside, there was shouting and chatter and general chaos. 

Of course there was chaos. A guard just tried to kill the Fire Lord. In Ozai’s name. 

Fuck. 

“Someone take him to the healer,” Fire Lord Zuko ordered.

And, before Manzo could insist he was fine, another guard had looped himself under Manzo’s arm and was hauling his weight away. 

* * *

Manzo had a week off to recover from his head injury. From what he could gather, Naoki had bashed his helmet with the brunt end of his sword. 

For the days he listened to the healer and stayed in bed, Manzo mulled it all over in his head (muddled as his thoughts were). Once he got over the embarrassment of being so easily incapacitated by a kid whose legs were the size of Manzo’s arms, he started to realize it didn’t add up.

Naoki could’ve killed him. In fact, Naoki _should’ve_ killed him. Anyone trying to commit regicide should have few qualms about taking down an extra guard or two on the way. And if Naoki had killed him, then Manzo wouldn’t have been able to come to Fire Lord Zuko’s side. 

It didn’t make sense, no matter which way he looked at it. 

It all boiled down to how _weird_ Naoki was. Thin and ropey but strong and swift. Schooled and calm but jumpy—although Manzo could write that off to nerves, now. 

And, more than anything, he couldn’t shake the feeling he’d met him before. There was something about his face—the way his cheekbones pulled down. It was almost like—

Manzo sucked in a breath. _Oh shit._

* * *

The next morning, he waited outside the library before it opened. It was his last day of medical leave, but he couldn’t think of a better way to spend it. 

When Kuri finally unlocked the doors, he didn’t waste time sorting through the shelves by himself. He nodded respectfully to her and pulled himself up straight again. “Do you have documents on lineage here?”

Kuri eyed him. Her grey hair was gathered in a low bun at the nape of her neck and her oversized robes consumed her small frame. If Manzo hadn’t known better, he’d have made the mistake of assuming that Kuri was nothing but a sweet old woman obsessed with her books. 

But he knew enough about her to hold onto his healthy fear. Agni knew he didn’t need to be on her bad side. 

“What kind of documents?” She didn’t blink; she took in Manzo with a precise glare. 

“I need to see the family tree of General Zhao. It’s essential to the Fire Lord’s safety.”

Kuri’s face pulled into a stiff line. “This way,” she said simply and walked forward. Manzo followed without question. 

* * *

His head ached as he poured over the scroll. 

But, sure enough, he followed the thin line and found the name he expected. 

Manzo sat in the echoing library and pulled his hand to his gut. He didn’t like to think about his brief time under Zhao’s command. He didn’t like to think about the Siege of the North. Or the way the sky turned red and the spirits themselves rebelled against the Fire Nation. The night he thought he’d gone to the place where the living do not go. 

Manzo dug his nails into his palm and breathed slowly. The dusty air filled his lungs. 

If he could do anything, he’d protect the Fire Lord. 

The world needed someone to make sure the world never bled like that again. 

* * *

Manzo went to the Fire Lord’s chambers that afternoon with the scroll in hand. An extra set of guards flanked the door as he rapt on the wood. 

“Enter,” came the stern voice a moment later.

When Manzo entered, he saw that the staff had been quick to repair the damage (minimal as it was). New hangings decorated the far wall and every inch of the floor shone. Still, the smell of sulphur hung in the room. Once smoke made its way deep in the wood, it never came out properly. Some things couldn’t be made right again. 

“Manzo,” Fire Lord Zuko said. He looked up from his mountain of paperwork. “I thought you were supposed to be on leave.”

“I am, your majesty.” Manzo bowed and bit his lip as his head throbbed from the movement. “But I have important information that can’t wait.”

The Fire Lord set down his brush. “Oh?”

Manzo blinked and gathered his courage. “Naoki is General Zhao’s nephew.”

Fire Lord Zuko’s eye widened and his lips parted. As quickly as he revealed his shock, he pulled his expression back into a collected mask. “I see.”

Manzo set the scroll with the lineage on his desk. 

Fire Lord Zuko closed his eyes for a beat. “You may leave, Manzo. Thank you for this.” He nodded at him. “And take an extra day off, alright? I’ll inform the guard. Today hardly counts.”

* * *

The trial went ahead the next week. 

In the throne room, the heat was palpable. Only two dozen or so people were in the chamber, but the waves of dry heat rolled from the curtain of flame that separated the Fire Lord from the staff, advisors, guards, and Fire Sages. And, of course, Naoki. He slouched forward in chains and kept his gaze fixed on the floor. 

Some had called for a public trial. The Fire Lord insisted the audience would be kept as small as possible. 

Of course, it wasn’t so much a trial as it was a sentencing. There was no question whether or not Naoki had done what he did. 

“My Lord,” the prison guard said. “He has refused to cooperate. There may well be a larger conspiracy at work, but he won’t talk.”

One of the Fire Sage’s tsked. “There is no choice but a public execution, then. We need to send a message to the nation about how we deal with treason.”

“No.”

Manzo’s chest tightened as he looked at the wall of flame. 

“But, my Lord he refuses to speak—”

“There will be no public execution,” Fire Lord Zuko said with finality. “And I, for one, still would like to know how Naoki was put in his position.”

“His papers were in order,” the captain of the guard said. “And I’ve had them reviewed. They were genuine—not forgeries.”

“He had help from officials,” Fire Lord Zuko surmised. 

“Yes.”

“Were there any signs of his true intention?”

Manzo readied himself to speak to the court, but before he got the chance, Eiko spoke up instead. 

“Some staff mentioned they found him odd, your majesty. They thought he was scrutinizing them,” she said. 

“And was there anything done about these concerns?”

“They were hardly formalized, your majesty,” Eiko said, her voice small. “But I believed it was simply nerves.”

“I see.” 

The silence hung over the room for an eternity. Manzo felt a bead of sweat trickle from his hairline and run down his neck. 

“And you, Naoki, do you have anything you wish to say for yourself?”

The boy didn’t reply.

From the front of the court, the wall of flames leapt before waning. The Fire Lord brandished them with a wave of his hand and stepped down from his throne. The only sound in the chamber was the clatter of his ornate boots against the stone. 

The Fire Lord came to a stop in front of Naoki. In his grand robes, he could have easily looked every bit as harsh and unforgiving as the other portraits of Fire Lords that lined the chambers. 

He didn’t.

“How old are you, Naoki?”

“Sixteen,” he spat out as if it were a point of pride. 

“Naoki,” Fire Lord Zuko repeated softly, “you can tell us.”

Naoki bit his lip. He shook his head tersely and kept his eyes locked on the Fire Lord’s boots. 

Fire Lord Zuko sighed. “Very well.” He closed his eyes and bundled his hands together.

“If you refuse to execute,” the Fire Sage said, “then the only acceptable alternative is life in prison.”

Fire Lord Zuko’s eyes snapped open. “Naoki, I will give you a choice: you can spend your life at Boiling Rock.

“Or you can serve ten years on the restoration projects in the colonies, rebuilding ruined villages.”

At that, half the room sounded in uproar.

“You cannot offer that, my lord,” the same Fire Sage said, his forehead creased in outrage. 

“I believe I just did,” Fire Lord Zuko said calmly. The rest of the room swallowed any protests they had.

“So, Naoki, what do you choose?”

The kid leaned forward, nearly sagging in his chains. “The colonies,” he said in a voice no louder than a whisper. 

Fire Lord Zuko nodded. “I trust the prison master can make the necessary arrangements.”

The Fire Lord turned to the court. “And I trust all of you to exercise the utmost discretion about these events.” He paused for a moment and his eyes flickered toward a heavy curtain on the other side of the room. He cleared his throat. “I trust _anyone_ who overhead this trial will not repeat what has been said today. 

As the Fire Lord turned and walked back to take his throne, Manzo kept his eyes on the curtain. He was certain the advisors and sages missed it—the heavy fabric swished beyond what was natural from the air current alone. 

Manzo smiled to himself (it wasn’t as if anyone could see his face clearly, anyway). There wasn’t anyone who knew the secret passages around the palace better than the staff. And—in spite of Fire Lord Zuko’s instructions—the details of what happened here today were sure to spread like, well, like fire. 

And, Agni knew, they could all use some mercy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what started as a few lines of headcanon turned In to 10k words. You know how it is. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments! It's such a joy to see them. 
> 
> (also come vibe with me on Tumblr @snailwriter)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was an idea I had that I didn’t end up using in the original story. It wouldn’t leave me alone though so here’s a bonus chapter for you all!

\+ one bonus 

  
The Fire Lord’s growth spurts have single-handedly kept Gakuto in business. Over the past year, he’s made five sets of various robes for their new leader and, without fail, the robes are too short a few months later. 

“Sorry,” the Fire Lord says one day, his right ear redder than normal. “I know you made a new set last month.” 

“No need to apologize, your majesty,” Gakuto says. He sticks a pin in the hem of the robe and measures once more to be certain. “It’s my job.” Besides, the robe he’s measuring for today is only meant for informal functions. More than that, it’s linen, which is easy to sew. The fabric doesn’t slip the way silk does when he works with it. 

For the rest of the fitting, Gakuto works in comfortable silence, as usual. The Fire Lord and he have swapped few words during their appointments. In Gakuto’s opinion, he always looks distant—tired and stressed. Of course, Gakuto supposes he would be too if he had a nation to run and a hundred years of war to unravel. At any rate, Gakuto prefers to work in silence and the Fire Lord clearly isn’t one for small talk, so their dynamic works well. 

“Arms,” Gakuto instructs. 

Fire Lord Zuko lifts his arms and Gakuto places his final pins. Gakuto nods and the Fire Lord slips behind the partitioner. After a moment, the robe in progress hangs over the top of the screen. 

“I’ll have it finished in a few days, your majesty. Just in time for summer.” The temperature in the capital is quickly rising; in a week or two, the heat will pour in in full force. And, Gakuto thinks, the dark linen will be perfect for the Fire Lord. The colour is traditional, but the lighter than normal fabric should stave off the unforgiving summer heat. 

* * *

Gakuto works out of his home. His shop is squarely in the middle of the capital—not too far from the ocean and not too far from the palace, either. The street is full of shops; everything from bakeries to bookshops to cosmetics. And, like his building, most of them have residences on the second floor. It makes for a nice community, all in all. They’re far from nobles but their lives are comfortable. 

But, if Gakuto is honest, he likes the convenience more than anything. Most mornings he rolls out of bed, washes, and then lumbers downstairs to work. His wife, Niko, keeps the books. Their daughter, Aoi, assists Gakuto most days. Their son, Reo, is still too young to help with much other than sweeping and cleaning up—although Gakuto almost pities him when he tasks him with that job. The font of the shop may be tidy but the back is always crammed full of various fabrics, works in progress, and patterns for robes. It’s chaotic, but Gakuto wouldn’t have it any other way. He gets to see his family all the time, he only needs to travel on the odd occasion, and he can choose his own hours. 

More than that, Gakuto is grateful to have a place away from the palace. Not many of those employed by the Fire Lord have that luxury. 

Gakuto sighs when he thinks about it that night over dinner. 

“Everything alright?” Niko asks him, her mouth turned down with worry. 

Gakuto nods. “It’s fine. I’m just stressed about the latest set of robes for the Fire Lord. We’ve been so busy this month…” It’s true—they have been much busier than normal. Summer fashion is sweeping in quickly, and this year is so unlike any other. Now, the robes take inspiration from the Earth Kingdom, and Gakuto is unfamiliar with those designs. He’s even heard rumblings that some nobles are after the intricate beading that adorns the clothing of the Water Tribes. He has even _less_ of an idea about how to replicate that. Or if he even should try. 

“I can help, Dad,” Aoi says through a mouthful of rice. 

“Swallow before you speak, dear.”

Aoi gulps down her food. “I’ve assisted you so much this year. You’ve seen my work—you know it’s good! I’m ready to help with this.”

Reo wrinkles his nose. “You only want to help because you think the Fire Lord is _cute_.”

Aoi’s face turns the colour of pomegranate juice. “I do _not._ ” Her nostrils flare and she stares pointedly at her brother.

Reo laughs. “You do! I heard you talking about it with Hina after school last week.” He scrunches his face up and puts on a falsetto. “ _Oh Hina, the Fire Lord is so dreamy. He’s a war hero_ and _a master fire bender. Did you see him in his crown? Did you know he’s looking for a Fire Lady?_ ”

“Alright!” Niko eyes them both. “That’s enough. Leave your sister alone.” Her gaze turns to Gakuto next. 

He sets down his chopsticks. “And maybe you can help next time. You still need to work on your backstitching.”

“But _Dad_!”

Gakuto pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Not this time, Aoi.”

She shoots him a bitter glare that looks nearly identical to Niko’s. It’s just his luck his kids have the same inability to let things go that he had at their age. 

* * *

In truth, Gakuto doesn't know what to think about the Fire Lord. The anniversary of Fire Lord Zuko’s coronation is only weeks away, and Gakuto still hasn’t landed on a solid opinion. 

He stews about it that night as he sits on the balcony with a cup of Ginseng tea. Everyone else is asleep and, finally, he can think clearly. 

Whenever Gakuto has interacted with the Fire Lord, he’s seemed nice enough, if not a bit cold. Aloof. The rest of the palace staff had no shortage of compliments about Fire Lord Zuko, which Gakuto counts as a good sign. Even though he doesn't talk to them often, it seems as if every time he’s at the palace someone is boasting about how the staff now have paid sick leave, or higher wages, or better treatment overall. They told the truth, he knew. None of them spoke with clipped words or pinched smiles. 

Still, there was more than a small slice of doubt in Gakuto’s mind. 

He’d worked for Ozai for two years, but he hadn’t gotten a good measure of the man during that time. Ozai was also stiff and unreadable whenever Gakuto had to take his measurements or hem his robes. True, there were less ‘pleases’ and ‘thank yous’ and there were certainly never any ‘sorries’. Not to mention the horrible things Ozai did outside of the fittings. 

But Gakuto can’t shake the stories he’s heard over the last few years. 

For his work, he trades with merchants from around the world. They come in with silks and beads and ribbons from all across the Earth Kingdom and he gives them fair coin in return. Lately, he’s even had a few come in the beads from the Water Tribes. 

They have more than goods to offer, though. More often than not, they come in to swap their stories, too. 

“Did you hear?” one man said once--almost a year and a half ago now. “The Prince found the Avatar.”

“Really?” Gakuto looked up from the golden thread the man was trying to sell him. 

“Yep. Caught him at the South Pole first but couldn’t keep him down. Slippery bastard got away—the Prince burnt down half of Kyoshi Island trying to get him back.”

Of course, that wasn’t the only story like that Gakuto heard. More and more, merchants would come into the capital with tales of how the banished Prince cut deals with pirates, employed bounty hunters, and, time after time, failed to capture the elusive Avatar. 

When the spring came, the news spread that the Prince wasn’t just banished anymore—he was now a traitor after what happened in the North. 

What happened next was hard to keep track of. Gakuto had heard ten different versions of how it all went down, but, in the end, Prince Zuko was back at the palace after killing the Avatar. In fact, that was the first time Gakuto had met the Prince. The teen needed a new set of formal robes after so many years. 

Before Gakuto had even finished the second set, the sun turned black, the Avatar came back, and the Prince vanished again. 

His head aches when he tries to piece it together, even now. There’s so much of the story Gakuto doesn’t know. That he’ll _never_ know because the Fire Sages aren’t keen on promoting the whole ‘we declared our Fire Lord a traitor’ story to the nation. 

Still, Gakuto can’t deny there had to be some wild twists of events for him to team up with the Avatar to take down his father and sister. That part of it… it doesn’t sit right. Gakuto was no great supporter of Ozai—but he couldn’t help but harbour some mistrust in Fire Lord Zuko. Even if he did end the war. 

All Gakuto wants is for his children to grow up in a nation of peace and prosperity. And, certainly, it seems the Fire Nation slowly steps in that direction. 

But can they ever reach that goal with Ozai’s son in charge? Can the system be fixed by the same people who broke it?

Gakuto sips his ginseng tea and lets it burn his throat on the way down. Inside, his family sleeps. Out on the balcony, the warm sea breeze blows through the city, carrying the fresh scent of cherry blossoms and magnolias. Overhead, the stars flicker against the inky darkness. 

He truly hopes the Fire Lord will prove his doubts to be unfounded.   
  


* * *

As he expected, the new robes fit Fire Lord Zuko perfectly. 

“Thank you,” he says with a nod. Fire Lord Zuko turns around to inspect the back in the mirror and, as he moves, Gakuto spots a few raised red splotches on his forehead. 

Gakuto bows deeply. Sometimes, he forgets how young their leader is. He’s just a teenager. Only a few years older than his own children. 

The weight of the crown—small as it is—must be tremendous. 

* * *

A few weeks later, the Fire Nation is in the full swing of a week of celebrations. It's been a full year since the end of the war. The end of the week marks the first year of Fire Lord Zuko’s reign. Paper lanterns line the streets (which have been cleaned for the occasion), merchants and salesman have travelled to the capital from across the nation, and, each night, they send fireworks curling across the sky in red and white spirals. 

Artists have poured in from across the nation too. Dancers in the streets swing their hips and spin circles and pull their arms like waves to the beat of drums and tune of the kotos. A slew of new plays are running in every theatre and park. It’s impossible to go anywhere in the city right now without getting caught up in the swell of music and laughter and light. 

It reminds him of the way his grandmother used to describe the Fire Nation when she told stories of her youth. The type of place she thought was lost forever. Gakuto smiles to himself despite the hollowness in his lungs. _It’s not gone, Grandma._ It’s here, again. 

On the third morning of celebrations, Gakuto is lounging on the balcony, talking with Aoi about the dances she went to with her friends last night, when there’s a sharp wrap at the door. 

Gakuto makes his way downstairs. When he finally opens the door, he’s met with a familiar sight. At the door is a young, lanky girl of about Aoi’s age. Panting, she puts one hand on the door frame and tries to catch a few breaths. Judging by that and the sweat running down her forehead, she must’ve run all the way here. 

“Are you one of Aoi’s friends? She’s upstairs right now—I can call her down.”

The girl shakes her head. “No, I’m Hoshi,” she says between pants. “I’m from the palace—they sent me to fetch you. Eiko says there’s an emergency.”

Gakuto blinks at the girl. “I’m the tailor.”

“Yes.”

“My shop is closed till next week for the festivities. This can’t wait?”

The girl shakes her head. 

“There’s no one else who can help?” The palace is full of staff perfectly capable of mending ripped seams or patching a knee. Just for once Gakuto would like a true holiday. The type with no work of any kind. 

But, once again, Hoshi shakes her head. “They requested you.”

“Fine. But I’m not running.”

* * *

When Gakuto reaches the Fire Lord’s chambers, he sees the problem immediately. Still, the Fire Sage standing on the other side of the room feels the need to point it out. “Look,” he says, “there’s a ceremony tonight and the Fire Lord’s formal robes don’t fit him.”

As much as Gakuto bristles at the Sage’s blunt tone, he will acknowledge that he’s right: the Fire Lord’s formal robes show a good inch of his pale ankles. 

“I just wore this set in early spring!” The Fire Lord protests. “I didn’t realize how much I grew. I would’ve contacted you weeks ago if I had.” He frowns and turns again in his robes. Aside from the length, they still fit him fairly well. Maybe a little tight in the shoulders, but nothing that couldn’t be ignored for one night. 

Even if the Fire Lord _had_ contacted Gakuto a few weeks ago, he would’ve had to work around the clock to make a set like this. The detail is fine—golden trim on burgundy fabric, tight sticking, and embroidery on the belt made to look like flames. It’s magnificent, really. 

But too small. 

Gakuto frowns. “I—“ he pauses. He remembers the stories of Ozai. Of Azula. They didn’t rule with much thought to what was reasonable. They ruled to their whims alone.

“I’m not sure if I can help,” Gakuto says anyway. It’s the truth; there’s no way around it. “There’s not enough fabric to take out the hem and nowhere near enough time to make anything remotely similar.”

The Fire Lord groans and runs his hand over his face. “Can’t I just wear something else? A set that would be appropriate for a formal banquet or—or something?” He shoots a desperate glance at the Fire Sage. 

The Sage presses his mouth into a line and gives a curt shake of his head. “I would _strongly_ advise against it. Tonight is about tradition, my Lord. The ceremony is meant to thank Agni for a year of prosperity. Many would take it as a personal affront if you wore anything less than your ceremonial robes.”

The Fire Lord frowns. “Of course they would,” he grumbles under his breath. 

Gakuto’s glad he stands aside from the two. They would’ve seen his shock at that statement if he were any closer. He can’t help feel some nagging awkwardness—should he leave? There’s really nothing he can do and it feels wrong to listen to this sort of discussion. 

The Sage bundles his hands behind his back and sweeps over the Fire Lord with his dull eyes. “If I may, my Lord, there _is_ another option.”

“Please, enlighten me,” he deadpans. Apparently being the Fire Lord doesn’t make one immune to teenage sarcasm. 

“There’s another set of ceremonial robes in storage, not being used at all.”

It takes Gakuto a moment to catch the Sage’s meaning. 

It takes the Fire Lord a moment longer. “No.” His face pales. He swallows. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am, my Lord. Ozai’s robes are still in perfectly good condition.” The Sage’s eyes flit over time Gakuto. “I’m sure it won’t be too difficult to hem them?”

Gakuto looks from the Sage to Fire Lord Zuko. “I could, your majesty. If that’s what you want.”

The Fire Lord closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and grits his teeth. “And you’re certain there’s no other robes that would work?”

“No,” says the Sage. “Not without causing an...incident.” From the tone of his voice, Gakuto guess he’s leaving out ‘another’ before ‘incident’. 

“And the ceremony is only two hours?”

“Yes.”

“Fine then. Get them.”

* * *

Gakuto kneels and adjusts a pin in Ozai’s old robes. 

Fire Lord Zuko stands stiff as a board and silent. He’s always quiet during his fittings, but this is different. The silence isn’t easy. It’s suffocating. 

All in all, the robes don’t look that different from the Fire Lord’s old ones. Some embroidery is different and the colours are a bit deeper, but they’re the same style, after all. They smell faintly of dust after being locked away in some box in the cloisters for a year. But they fit him—more than even Gakuto expected. They’ll only need to come up a little at the bottom and sleeves, but that’s an easy enough fix. The shoulders are a bit too broad, but that’ll be covered up by the armoured chest piece. Thankfully, Fire Lord Zuko’s own piece still fits him. 

Gakuto puts in another pin and glances up at the young Fire Lord. 

_Agni_ , he looks so much like his father: hair as black as a night with no moon; the line of his nose; the way his jaw line slopes inward; and, most of all, the simmering gold of his eyes. 

But he’s not his father, Gakuto thinks. He can see the red, hardened skin around his eye. Gakuto heard stories from his merchants about how a Prince ended up with a scar like that, too. 

But Fire Lord Zuko locked away his father for his crimes. And, even if Gakuto doesn’t trust him completely, he needs to judge the Fire Lord by his own merit. Not by the actions of his predecessors—the men who he’s so clearly trying to leave in the past that he freezes up when he has to wear their robes. 

“My children have enjoyed the festival, your majesty,” Gakuto says softly. 

“That’s good. I—I’m glad to hear it.”

“We all are,” he adds. “It’s a welcome sight. It reminds me of the festivals in stories my grandmother used to tell me.”

Fire Lord Zuko nods slowly, careful not to move too much. “I hoped for as much.” He swallows. “As a nation, we have many traditions we can take pride in.”

_And many we shouldn’t._

“I wanted to bring them into the world again. For a new time of peace.” 

Gakuto hums in agreement. “Well, you’ve certainly gotten my son to take interest in something besides bothering his sister for the first time in months. He couldn't stop watching the Dragon Dancers last night.”

Fire Lord Zuko chuckles and, for the first time all day, there’s some warmth in his tone. “I do what I can for my people.”

Gakuto finishes the final pin and stands. The rest of the job won’t be too difficult—he can make the adjustments here in the palace without even needing to go back home. 

“Your majesty, I was thinking,” he says, “that perhaps we could try some new designs for your proper new set of ceremonial robes? I’d run everything by you and the Fire Sages, of course, but I thought it might be interesting to try something new.”

“Yeah. I’d like that. A lot.” The Fire Lord smiles. “Traditions are great and all, but I think it’s time for something new.”   
  


Gakuto more than agrees. Between his ribs, his hope for his nation swells. There’s pain in their past—that much is undeniable. But, for the first time in a long time, he’s hopeful for the future, too. Hopefully for the days when his children talk about the days of the war as a hazy memory. The days when his grandchildren (Agni-willing, that is) will ask about the war, unable to comprehend the way things used to be. The Fire Nation still has a long way to go, but Gakuto knows their Fire Lord will choose to keep pushing forward. Always forward. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lastly, I truly hope all of you in the US are staying safe right now. It’s a scary time for sure and I hope you’re doing what you can to get through it. Helping can look different for everyone—whether it’s protesting, volunteering, donating to bail funds, reading about anti-racism, or being kind to yourself and taking a break—please do what you can. 
> 
> It feels like a weird time to be writing fiction. Why should I turn inward when there’s so much going on in the real world? But we all need an escape sometimes and, more than that, we need ideals to look up to. I suspect if you’re here, reading a fic about Zuko making the conscious choice to rule with care and respect, you probably believe that the world can be better.  
> I do too. But it’s not going to get there by itself. We’ve got a lot of work to do.
> 
> If you want to help but you’re not sure where to start, check out this video [Help BLM with No Money](https://youtu.be/bCgLa25fDHM) and let the ads play.
> 
> Stay safe, my friends.


End file.
